


Day 18: Playful

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [18]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Valentines 2020 (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: “Look, if anyone can joke about being damned, it’s me.” Crowley waves his arm about, gesturing to his haphazard limbs sprawling everywhere on the couch. “Demon, me, damned for all eternity…. And really, angel, it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”The words are out of Aziraphale’s mouth before he can stop them. “But if you weren’t…”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 19
Kudos: 145





	Day 18: Playful

**Author's Note:**

> All the stories in this series are written for the Ineffable Valentines challenge on Tumblr. This piece directly follows the events of [Day 13: Grand Gesture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722757) and [Day 14: Be My Valentine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22703524), but all the stories in this series are linked together, so if you want a full picture of what exactly is going on, please start with [ Day 1: Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520329).
> 
> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)
> 
> Also, this is totally not playful. These characters are just doing what they want and I am along for the ride rn.

2008 AD - The Day After the Anti-Christ Was Delivered

“It’s not so bad, once you get used to it,” Crowley quips. A grin spreads across his face.

Aziraphale is utterly charmed by the sight of the demon’s smile and can’t help but smile back. He’s so delighted by the idea of being a godfather, and the sight of Crowley, and the sight of Crowley’s delighted smile, that it takes him a second to process the joke. Once he does, he scowls at Crowley, much to the demon’s apparent delight.

Crowley laughs. “Oh, lighten up, angel, it was just a joke,” he says. Crowley searches for his wine glass. “I’m just playing with you.” Glass in hand, he pours some of the wine they just drank into his glass. 

“You shouldn’t joke about such things Crowley,” Aziraphale says. 

“Look, if anyone can joke about being damned, it’s me.” Crowley waves his arm about, gesturing to his haphazard limbs sprawling everywhere on the couch. “Demon, me, damned for all eternity…. And really, angel, it’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

The words are out of Aziraphale’s mouth before he can stop them. “But if you weren’t…”

The end of the sentence hangs heavy between them. All the what-ifs and never-weres stretching out in the silence. Everything that could be, and couldn’t be.

Crowley stands suddenly. “It’s not worth thinking about.”

Aziraphale doesn’t like the way he’s been dismissed, but there’s nothing for it. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He bows his head, looking at the floor, anywhere but at his very best friend in this whole wonderful, wild world. The friend he hadn’t spoken to for eight years before last night. He’d known their separation wouldn’t last forever. It never has for them. Even when Crowley was really angry, after Aziraphale had refused him the holy water, he’d only stayed away for forty-odd years. When things had been bad, when Aziraphale had needed Crowley, Crowley had come. That is how it would be for them, until, well, until the end of time, Aziraphale supposes. Which isn’t that far off. “Crowley,” he begins, but the demon cuts him off. 

“I’ll tell you what is worth thinking about, though.” Crowley raises one eyebrow at Aziraphale, and his eyes have a new sheen in them now. He brings the wine glass up to his mouth, lets his tongue rest gently against the glass before taking another sip. “Celebrations.” There’s a hiss in his voice. 

“We’ve already drunk quite a bit of wine.” Aziraphale eyes the glass in Crowley’s hand. “I can’t believe you’re going to re-drink it. It tastes like poorly reheated leftovers.” 

Crowley gives him an appraising look. “Have you been having a lot of poorly reheated leftovers? You do look a bit thinner than when I last saw you.” 

Aziraphale looks down at himself, then back up to Crowley. 

“Not that I’m really paying attention to your body,” Crowley says quickly. Aziraphale purses his lips and raises an eyebrow. He’d felt the tingle in the base of his spine that told him Crowley was near as he waited on the park bench at St. James’s. He’d felt it for a good ten minutes and wondered what the Heaven was taking him so long. He knows Crowley was looking. He’s not an idiot, and he does understand lust as the physical side of love. He was -- is, he supposes -- interested in that aspect of loving Crowley. But Heaven has very strict rules, and they are on  _ opposite sides _ , and he can’t disobey. He doesn’t want to Fall. Their entire friendship, the whole thing was doomed to begin with, and now, here they are, at the end of the world, trying this ridiculous scheme . . .

“You’re brooding, angel.” Crowley’s voice cuts through his reverie. 

“I’m not brooding.”

“You are, and it doesn’t look good on you.” 

Aziraphale huffs. “If we are going to work together, can you please stop flirting with me?”

“I’m just being playful.”

“You are  _ flirting _ .”

Crowley purses his lips. “You think very highly of yourself.” He raises an eyebrow and drains his glass, pours another. 

Aziraphale glares at him. “You made it quite clear how you felt eight years ago when you asked me to run away with you. And nothing has changed between now and then.” 

Crowley is silent. He picks up Aziraphale’s glass and waves it. “Are we going to drink and celebrate or are you going to brood?” 

Aziraphale does not want Crowley to leave, and does not want to ruin this fragile peace they have, so he takes the glass. He opens a fresh bottle and pours. Crowley leans over quickly and taps their glasses together. “To working together.” 

“To working together,” Aziraphale agrees. They both drink. 

“Anyway, you are looking a bit thin,” Crowley says. 

“Will you  _ please- _ ”

“Just interested . . . it’s been eight years, and in the other 6000 some I’ve known you, you’ve never really made any minor adjustments like this to your corporation. Figured you must have a good reason for it.” 

Aziraphale swallows. “Actually, I . . . I’ve been eating a bit less.” 

“Did you get food poisoning again?”

“No, not that.” Aziraphale sighs. “There’ve been new mandates from Gabriel.” 

“Oh?”

“Yes, apparently we are supposed to be keeping our corporations in superior shape.” 

Crowley’s eyebrows make a run for his hairline. “Superior to who?”

Aziraphale purses his lips. “I don’t know. It just says ‘superior’. You know how incredibly vague these things from Gabriel are.” 

He nods. “I know.” 

Now that the topic has been broached, Aziraphale can feel the dam breaking. “Do you know he chided me for eating sushi?” 

“What?”

“Yes. Popped in out of nowhere in the middle of my favorite sushi restaurant and told me he didn’t dare sully himself by eating.”

“Sanctimonious bastard.”

“He’s so uncouth. He has no idea how to blend in with the humans. I don’t think he even materialized in a private place, just showed up where anyone could see him!”

“Did he have clothes on this time?”

Aziraphale nods, eager to gossip. “Do you know what he said to me? How he told me armageddon was coming? ‘Oh, Aziraphale, I like these clothes so much, pity they won’t be around much longer, since the world’s going to end.’ How do you like that?”

Crowley huffs. “Terrible.” He takes a drink from his glass. “So you miracled away a few pounds?”

Aziraphale sighs. “No, I didn’t want to waste my corporeal comfort miracles on that. I’ve been . . . dieting.” He stares into the middle distance, thinking of the quinoa and kale salad he’d had for dinner yesterday. “I do like some of the  _ diet _ foods I’ve tried. You know how much I like new cuisine. But, oh, how I have missed wine.” Aziraphale smiles as he takes a long drink of wine. He rolls the liquid around in his mouth, relishing the fruity notes, the hint of oak, the slight tang as he swallows. When he looks up, Crowley is staring at him. “What?”

Crowley clears his throat. “I have always thought that you have a superior shape, and I am not the only one.”

He purses his lips, perturbed. “Crowley, I said-”

“No, hear me out-- don’t you remember John Donne? He had some serious lust for you, angel. Do you know how long it took me to convince him you weren’t going to bed him and he should go for Mrs. Boni? ” 

He blows out a breath. “Times have changed, and what was in fashion then-”

“What about Mick Jagger? That photographer, what was his name? Rick? Dick? Angel, they were going to make you a Playboy centerfold!” 

Aziraphale purses his lips. “I don’t think that is what Gabriel means by superior shape.”

“Well he should be more specific, shouldn’t he? What kind of vague nonsense is that?” He mimics, “ _ Keep thyself in superior shape. _ That could mean anything. Should you have miracled yourself into David Beckham? Or one of those blokes on the cover of a romance novel? What’s his name? Fabio?” 

Aziraphale giggles at the notion. “I don’t think my clothes would fit anymore. He’s very large.” 

“And then you’d have to miracle yourself some new clothes, too, wouldn’t you? And they can’t have you doing that. Oh no, how dare you use a miracle to make life easy for you. Just send you on with ill fitting clothes, or have you going about naked?”

“Oh, can’t do that,” Aziraphale says. He finishes his glass of wine, pours another. “Don’t you remember? That was one of those ones they sent back in the ‘60s.”

Crowley takes another large gulp of wine and points a finger at him. “Ohhh, I do remember that now. ‘Thou shouldst strive to never be naked’. Oh, I laughed about that one for weeks, thinking about you trying to get in and out of your clothes as fast as possible without using a miracle.” 

“It was not a laughing matter to me! I was miracling my clothes on and off for months until Gabriel came back and said it was more of a guideline than a rule. I think the paperwork drowned him.”

“He was probably the reason the rule was made up in the first place. Didn’t you tell me he used to appear in the buff every time you met him?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes. “Yes. It was so disturbing.” He takes a drink. “Speaking of, you are looking well.”

“Who’s flirting now, angel?” Crowley raises an eyebrow suggestively. 

Aziraphale startles. “Oh. Oh, I didn’t mean-” he stops, looks at Crowley who is still raising his eyebrow up and down. He looks ridiculous and he knows it. “You wicked demon!” 

Crowley laughs until there are tears in his eyes. Aziraphale takes a drink, pretending to be cross with him, but oh, how he has missed the sound of Crowley’s laughter! He feels his heart beat in a way that it hasn’t for eight long years. “You deserved that,” Crowley says. “You beautiful bastard, you really did.” 

Aziraphale considers. “I guess I did,” he admits. He relaxes, takes another drink of wine. “Although you must miracle those pants on and off. They are tighter than ever.” 

Crowley gives a pleased smile. “Nice of you to notice.” 

Aziraphale bites the inside of his mouth, wondering how far he can go. How far he will let himself go. “Have you been all right?” 

Crowley shrugs one shoulder. He finishes his wine. “I brought down the London mobile phone network yesterday before, uh, the antichrist arrived.” 

_ That’s not an answer,  _ Aziraphale thinks. But he lets it go. “I have missed this.” 

“Missed hearing about my evil deeds?” 

“Oh, honestly, you  _ know _ what I am trying to say,” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley snorts. “Actually, no, I really don’t. It’s been eight years, and not even a phone call, so I don’t know exactly what you have and haven’t missed, you’ll have to spell that out for me. I’m a demon, remember? Not exactly known for our great understanding of feelings.” His mouth twists in a cruel smile. 

Aziraphale swallows. “I suppose I deserve that.” He looks down at his wine. “It’s very late.”

“You don’t sleep.” 

“But you do.” 

Crowly sets his wine glass down on the side table with a thunk. Some wine spills over the rim. “Right then, I’ll be off. Give you a ring in a couple of years when I’ve got an idea of how we’re going to get close to him.“ He stands and heads towards the door. The  _ front _ door! 

Aziraphale can’t help the note of panic in his voice. He stands and takes a few drunken steps forward, chasing after him. “Crowley, are you leaving? Shouldn’t you go out the back-”

“I came in the front door, angel, you do remember that?” Crowley asks. “ _ Get thee behind me, foul fiend _ .” His voice is tight. Aziraphale recognizes that tone of voice. It has the same edge of steel that his voice did eight years ago when he said  _ You’re never going to be ready, are you?  _

“I didn’t mean it like that, I was just . . . being playful,” Aziraphale says, using one of Crowley’s phrases back at him. 

“If you’re so concerned about us being seen together, why walk us through the front door to begin with? I followed  _ you _ , if you remember.” 

Aziraphale sighs. “I thought that the world was ending.” 

Crowley steps forward, crowding into Aziraphale’s space until they are just inches apart. Aziraphale can feel the heat from his body through all the layers between them. “So we’re only friends if the world is ending? And if it’s not, then what, we’re enemies?  _ Hereditary enemies _ ?” 

This is all going very wrong and Aziraphale wishes he could fix it but he has no idea how. “No, no, I mean- that is- I want for us to be friends.”

“I’m a demon. I’m not supposed to have friends,” Crowley spits. 

Aziraphale feels his stomach clench. “I know,” he says. He looks down at the floor. “I know, you’re not supposed to.”

“But I take a risk,” he says levelly. “And I do it  _ for you. _ ” Aziraphale looks up, catching Crowley’s gaze. The demon leans closer. Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s breath on his face.  _ Is this it? _ he thinks. Is this the moment when Crowley finally kisses him? Instead, Crowley puts his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, stares deep into his eyes and says, “And if this is the end of the world, then these are the last years I have with you. And being with you is worth more to me than anything else.” 

_ I love you,  _ Aziraphale thinks, at the same time that he feels a rush of love from Crowley crash into him like a tsunami. He can’t help himself. He reaches out and puts his arms around Crowley. “Darling,” he whispers. He feels Crowley’s arms return the embrace, and then they're crushing each other tightly, like they can't get close enough. “Darling, I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale cries. Crowley lets him. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos!


End file.
